by Jeff Guinn
“Gabrielle didn’t just disappear,” McLendon insisted. “You need to get all your men, get them out looking for her—now.”
“Most of them are off duty,” Hove said. “Every officer I’ve got will be needed at the mayor’s funeral in a few hours. There’ll be a considerable crowd. And it’s still only a bit past ten in the morning. Tell you what—Major, you and C.M. go on back to the White Horse. You might just find Gabrielle right there waiting for you. Joe, go take a bath. You frankly smell like a cesspool. Even a schoolmaster deserves occasional indulgence, but you hold a place of considerable regard in this town and your current state is an embarrassment. I’ll go look about for Gabrielle myself. If there’s no sign of her by the time the funeral’s over, I’ll put some of my men on it. I’m fairly certain that won’t be necessary. No, don’t any of you argue. It’s the best I can do.”
—
GABRIELLE WASN’T at the White Horse. McLendon fumed, and Mulkins tried to calm him.
“Jack Hove’s right, C.M. No use in us losing control.”
“Come on, Major. This isn’t like Gabrielle. You know something’s wrong.”
“I admit my concern. What do you want to do about the mayor’s funeral?”
“What about it?”
“You and I are to be pallbearers.”
McLendon’s gaze fixed on the hotel’s front door. He was willing Gabrielle to appear. “I can’t think about the funeral. They’ll have to use someone else in my place.”
“I’ll remain with you,” Mulkins said. “Let me send word to the Hancocks, who are organizing the proceedings, and inform them that they’ll need two additional volunteers to carry the casket.”
“We can’t just sit here waiting,” McLendon said. “I’m going out to search this town from one end to the other.”
“That’s fine. Give me a moment to write a note to the Hancocks and have it carried to them. Then we’ll go.”
—
FOR TWO HOURS, McLendon and Mulkins walked the Mountain View streets, stopping in shops and asking proprietors if they’d seen Gabrielle. None had. Livery operators reported no horses or wagons rented by anyone that morning or the previous night. The Florence stage had just departed, but the depot manager knew Gabrielle and was certain that she wasn’t a passenger.
Mayor Camp’s funeral began promptly at one in the afternoon. Though the streets and stores were now virtually deserted, McLendon and Mulkins didn’t give up their search. The more they looked without result, the more convinced they became that something terrible had happened. McLendon was on the brink of completely losing control, and his near hysteria wasn’t helped when a freshly shaven and clothed Joe Saint reappeared and insisted on helping hunt for some clue regarding Gabrielle’s disappearance.
“Get him away from me,” McLendon insisted, but Major Mulkins refused.
“Three sets of eyes are better than two, C.M.,” he said. “You need to firm up. Being overwrought’s a hindrance in situations of this sort. And Joe, both you and C.M. be civil to each other. No time now for any foolishness.”
As the sound of off-key singing came from the barn behind Flanagan’s Livery—the mayor’s mourners were attempting “Bringing in the Sheaves”—the three men heard another voice. This one was hailing them.
“McLendon, Saint, Major Mulkins!” Ike Clanton strolled down Main Street toward them. “I urgently need a word.”
“Not now, Clanton,” McLendon snapped. “We’re too busy to waste time with you.”
“You’ll want to hear me,” Clanton said. “It concerns Miss Gabrielle.”
Rage flooded through McLendon. It was as though red mist had fallen over his eyes. He leaped at Clanton, knocked him down, and straddled him.
“What is it? What have you done with her?” he shouted, grasping Ike by the front of his shirt and shaking him. Clanton fought back, pulling his arms free and punching. A blow glanced off McLendon’s ear, and then Mulkins and Saint pulled the two apart.
“You bastard! What have you done?” McLendon shouted.
Ike made a show of brushing dirt off his pants. “I’ve a mind not to share what I know,” he complained to Mulkins and Saint. “This man had no cause to treat me so, especially when I have helpful information.”
“Then offer it quick, Ike,” Mulkins said. “Otherwise, Joe and I may well join C.M. in thrashing you.”
“I’m wounded by your words,” Clanton said. “I’ll expect an apology once you’ve heard me out.”
“Talk,” Joe Saint commanded in a stern voice completely unlike his usual soft-spoken tone.
Clanton did.
“I’ve been camped south of town, venturing in now and again to talk of my family’s fine settlement down on the Gila River,” Ike began.
“Hell with your settlement—what do you know about Gabrielle?” McLendon asked. His ear was swollen and slightly torn at the lobe from Clanton’s blow.
“I’m coming to that. I was having early-morning coffee by my campfire, just enjoying the fine fresh air, when up rides this man leading Miss Gabrielle on another horse behind him. A big man, a giant, I’d term him, like none I’d ever seen before.”
Cash McLendon long believed that he had experienced the worst heart-stopping, stomach-wrenching dread. Now he realized he hadn’t.
“A giant,” he said.
“Precisely. And this giant, he says this: ‘You, there, I need you to go into town and give a message to Cash McLendon. Do you know him?’ ‘I do,’ says I. ‘Well, then,’ says he, ‘you tell McLendon we’re going to make a swap. He’ll understand my meaning. In two days’ time’—that’s Saturday,” Clanton added helpfully—‘McLendon’s to meet me in Devil’s Valley, where after our exchange this lady returns home safe and sound. Saturday noon, straight up. He’s not to be in contact with the law, and must come unarmed. He knows the consequences to the lady should he fail to follow my instructions in any regard. You go tell McLendon all this, and he’ll give you twenty dollars for your trouble.’ Then he and Miss Gabrielle rode on.”
“Gabrielle—was she all right?” McLendon asked.
“She seemed fine, though she said not a word.”
“And you didn’t try to save her?” Saint asked.
“From a man the size of a mountain? And there was no evidence she was a prisoner. I saw no gun held on her. I’d have to testify that way, should it come to court.”
“Brautigan,” McLendon said to Saint and Mulkins. They nodded. McLendon felt light-headed with fear.
“Did the big man say anything else, Ike?” Mulkins asked.
“He just said the exchange, whatever it is, would be Saturday in Devil’s Valley, at exact noon. Also, while no one was to talk with the law, McLendon could bring someone to get Miss Gabrielle home safe afterward.”
“Where is this Devil’s Valley?” McLendon asked.
“I’ve heard the name. I think it’s maybe a day and a half ride from here,” Mulkins said. “I’m not certain exactly where. Ike, have you forgotten to mention anything more this man said?”
“I don’t believe so. I especially remember the mention of me getting twenty dollars.”
“You bastard,” McLendon said with a snarl. He lunged at Clanton again, but Mulkins stopped him.
“Settle down, C.M.” Mulkins dug in his pocket and extracted a greenback. “Here’s your money, Ike. Now, can you tell us how to get to Devil’s Valley from here?”
“I can do better than that,” Clanton said. “Out of concern for a lady’s safety, I’ll escort you there myself. It already being well past noon on Thursday, we’ll need to be leaving soon to reach there by the appointed time on Saturday. How long will it take you gentlemen to provision yourselves and secure mounts?”
The other three exchanged glances.
“Let us talk a moment among ourselves, Ike,” Mulkins said. Clanton agreeably walked a short distance
away, humming to himself.
“Ike’s in on it with Brautigan, he has to be,” McLendon said.
“Oh, it’s a ruse, all right,” Mulkins agreed. “But how do we respond? The proper thing would be to pull Jack Hove out of that funeral service and tell him what we’ve learned. He’d soon have the whole story out of Ike.”
“Stay away from the sheriff,” Saint said. “You heard what Clanton said. That man Brautigan will kill Gabrielle if we don’t do exactly what he says. We’ve got to get her back safely. Nothing else matters.”
“The exchange, Joe,” Mulkins said. “You know what that means. C.M. has to trade himself to Brautigan for Gabrielle, a sure death sentence. It can’t be permitted.”
“That’s not your decision, Major,” McLendon said. He looked over to where Clanton now stood, idly fingering his twenty-dollar greenback. “Here’s what we’re going to do: You and I will rent horses and ride out with Ike to this Devil’s Valley. Afterward, you’ll bring Gabrielle back here. No—don’t argue. My mind’s made up. If you don’t agree, if you won’t come along to see her safely home, I’ll go by myself, and then who knows if Gabrielle can find her way. Do this for her, if not for me.”
“All right,” Mulkins said. “Maybe on the way we’ll think of something.”
“No,” Saint said, so vehemently that Ike Clanton, two dozen yards away, was startled. “We’ll do exactly what Brautigan wants. McLendon hands himself over, we get Gabrielle safe and sound. Yes, Major, I said ‘we.’ I’m coming, too, just to be certain McLendon doesn’t attempt some foolish trick that further endangers Gabrielle. So let’s get provisioned, rent horses, and get riding with Clanton.” He glared at McLendon. “This is all because of you. I feel like killing you myself.”
McLendon shrugged. “Don’t bother, Joe. Soon enough, someone else is going to do it for you.”
PART
TWO
15
At age fifty-eight, Newman Clanton believed he was finally about to make his fortune, one he damned well deserved. For more than forty years he’d failed as a farmer and cattleman in Tennessee, Missouri, Texas, and California, always working hard, always falling short. These failures were never his fault. Sometimes the weather foiled him—floods at planting and harvest times, droughts in between. In Texas, it was the Comanche, marauding at will. And always—always—the government did its best to keep a poor man down, using taxes and land titles and lawmen bought by rich men. Even in wide-open Arizona Territory, Newman’s initial try went bust. The little town of Glorious was supposed to be surrounded by mountains rich with silver ore, but there was none, and once again the Clantons had to move on.
This time, they hit it square. Pueblo Viejo Valley had everything a man needed to succeed provided he really tried, and, like always, Newman did. Though his wife passed from some wasting disease or other, he and his four sons and two sons-in-law put their sweat into building paradise in the middle of the desert. First, they cleaned out an old irrigation ditch initially dug by Army engineers. The ditch supplied river water to the nearly six hundred acres they planted with assorted grain and vegetable crops. There was plenty of well-watered land left, twenty thousand acres or more, to sell off in segmented town lots in a new settlement called Clantonville. When the silver boom around Mountain View played out some, prospectors would move on and would-be farmers would need land. Newman held some of the choicest. The nearby San Carlos agency was bothersome, but the Apache on it were mostly tamed. Also, Newman was close to buying a good-sized herd of cattle. There was great need for beef throughout the territory. Soon as he had his cattle business established, he’d go down to Silver City and take a new wife. A man needed company at night. He had a couple possibilities in mind. The one named Elena was younger and likely would live longer than Ada. Newman didn’t know Ada’s last name yet, but had heard she was a widow with some money of her own. Well, either would be proud to marry a man of his substance, fine land and fat cattle, the best combination. Finally, Newman was in the right damned place at the right damned time. Barring catastrophe—and Newman had already experienced more than his share—he and his family were going to be fine.
Which was why he was truly provoked when Patrick Brautigan showed up with the Tirrito girl Newman remembered from back in Glorious. It was one thing when the big bastard wanted to snatch Cash McLendon and hide him in a Clantonville shed for a night or two. The way Newman saw it, a couple men had a private dispute that was about to be settled—it was really no concern of his. Sure, the law wouldn’t approve, but the law would never find out. McLendon was going to die and his captor was clearly tight-lipped. All of the Clantons knew how to keep quiet. Bottom line, Newman made some risk-free money.
But bringing the girl instead of McLendon changed everything. After locking her in the shed, Brautigan said he intended to swap her out the next day for McLendon.
“What do you mean ‘swap her’?” Newman bellowed. “She knows us from back in Glorious. You release her alive, she’ll run right home to Mountain View and tell all to the sheriff. You’ll be long gone with McLendon, and the law will descend here. I won’t have it—me and mine have worked too hard. You kill her now, or I will!”
“Don’t touch her, you or any of your brood,” Brautigan said. They were in Clanton’s long, low house. It was stuffy, though not as bad as it was in the mid-afternoon heat outside. Brautigan sat on a low-backed wooden chair, Clanton on the cushion-strewn davenport. “When she gets back, all she’ll say is she went on a short trip. There’ll be no mention of you or this place, now or ever.”
Clanton scowled. “You can’t be certain.”
“I can.”
“And Ike? Have you got him in deeper?”
“He’s doing me one last service, but nothing that the law can pin on him. You need have no concern in that regard.”
Clanton shook his head. “Even so, that’s not enough for me. You try to make this swap, it’s not just the girl we need to worry about. You tell me somebody’s coming with McLendon to see she gets home afterward. Well, what about that one? Even if she doesn’t talk, he might.”
Brautigan shut his eyes for a moment. He was tired. The insides of his saddle-chafed thighs burned, and his head ached from riding so long in the daylight glare. “No one will talk. I’ll explain things to the girl. That will be enough.”
“So you say. But after tomorrow you’ll be on your way, and we Clantons’ll be here waiting to see what may befall us. No, I can’t have it. Kill the girl, or I will, and we’ll bury her miles away where she’ll never be found. Then you go, and don’t come back. We’re done with this.”
It was Brautigan’s turn to shake his head. “No. I need you to do all you’ve promised, all I’ve paid for. And keep your hand away from that gun behind the cushion. I can strike you dead before you touch the trigger.”
Newman Clanton knew himself to be a hard man, a capable fighter, but still he flinched.
“Touch me, and my boys—”
“Will die, too, if they test me. You’re in this to stay, Mr. Clanton. Best thing you can do is cooperate and do what I ask. If so, all will be well. And, of course, there will be additional payment for this unexpected change in plans.”
Clanton carefully moved his right hand away from the gun. “How much extra?”
Brautigan calculated. What amount would cause Clanton’s greed to overcome his trepidation? “A thousand, to be paid tomorrow morning when the girl and I ride out.”
Added to what Clanton had saved, it was enough to buy the cattle. “All right. But you better make certain that nobody talks.”
Brautigan stood. “I’ll remind the girl of that now.”
—
THE SHED was built of logs, with river clay chinked into the spaces between them. High on the walls, these gaps were unchinked. That allowed in enough air for Gabrielle to breathe, though not for enough breeze to cool the sweat running down her face
and body. The sweat was caused by fear as well as heat. When they rode into this little settlement, whatever it was, Brautigan pulled her off her horse, grasped her firmly by the arm, and led her to this small structure. Gabrielle thought it was about ten feet square. He unbolted the door, pulled it open, and pushed her inside.
“Not a word now, not even a sound,” he warned. “I’ll be listening.” The door closed beyond him, and there was a metallic clank as the bolt slammed home.
As her eyes adjusted to the interior gloom, Gabrielle saw that there wasn’t much inside. The floor was hard-packed dirt. A few sacks of some kind of grain were stacked haphazardly in one corner. Outside, she heard muted voices, none of them deep enough to be Brautigan’s. As they rode in, she’d seen some people who looked familiar. Did she know them from Mountain View or from somewhere else? If somehow she signaled to them, would anyone respond?
There were other immediate concerns. Her ribs hurt terribly. If any were broken, Gabrielle feared that the jagged ends might pierce internal organs. She also needed to relieve herself. There didn’t seem to be any container in the shed that could be used to catch the urine. But she had to go. Gingerly, Gabrielle pulled down the dead man’s pants that she was wearing and squatted in a corner. At least she had some privacy. When she was done, Gabrielle moved to the farthest point opposite, sat down, and leaned against the log wall, trying to think of what to do. She knew she’d been taken as a hostage to be traded for Cash McLendon. Brautigan said that she would live if she did as she was told. Gabrielle wanted badly to survive—but at the expense of Cash’s life? A noble thought occurred. She would do something to let him get away, sacrifice her life for his. Then a less noble one. Cash McLendon’s greed, his selfishness back in St. Louis, was the cause of Gabrielle’s terrible plight. Maybe he deserved to die. She certainly didn’t. And what if McLendon, who’d previously acted the coward, reverted now to form and didn’t agree to exchange himself for her? What would Brautigan do then? Gabrielle believed she would suffer his wrath. All at once, she realized she hadn’t thought about her father. What if he hadn’t had the strength to get out of bed? How long might he have been all alone, wondering where she was, why she had deserted him? Tears came. She couldn’t help it.
